


Hymne A L'Amour

by Lady_of_Inklings



Series: Yuri on Ice Au Week [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst?, I Tried, Jazz Music, M/M, Some plot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Inklings/pseuds/Lady_of_Inklings
Summary: Day 3 of the Yuri in Ice Au week: Different Era/Time PeriodA New Year's celebration is nothing if you have no one to kiss when the clock strikes twelve.......





	Hymne A L'Amour

The jazz music flowed through the empty ballroom, Viktor could make out the soft notes in French that carried from the gramophone in the corner. The ballroom, which had entertained his guests, was in shambles; steamers left trampled on the floor, champagnes glasses broken, and the remanent of various items of clothing that littered the marble floors. It smelled simultaneously like sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. 

Viktor took a lazy sip of the scotch in his glass, not caring if a few drops of the drink dripped from the corner of his lips and onto his expensive white suit. His mind too foggy and his legs too tired to carry him back to his room. 

A scotch in one hand and a cigarette in another, it was a fitting scene.

What way for the most eligible bachelor to spend his New Year's Night. Even Makkachin’s company did little to help him.

The fireworks that signalled the new year had fizzled out about an hour ago and so had the party. Most of the guests had filed out of the ballroom as soon as the show ended, not even bothering to say goodbye to Viktor. Or maybe they had and Viktor must have been too drunk to notice. 

Through the glitz and glam; feathers and top hats, Viktor could find little to care about. 

A New Year’s party, no matter how much you dressed up for it, felt no fun when you had nobody to kiss when the clock struck midnight. It didn’t matter if it was Paris or New York, it was sad really, miserable even that the most eligible bachelor of the elite had nobody to call his own. Men and women threw themselves at his feet, scrambling for a glimpse of his attention. It was love and adoration but the wrong kind--the kind of love that made you feel isolated and empty inside. 

It was like poison for his soul.

Toxic.

He took a quick puff of his cigarette, not really caring how he felt his lungs burn in protest. 

The press could give him fame, the factories could give him money, the parties could give him attention, and people could provide him company in his big and empty bed but at the end of the day Viktor was like one of those fabre eggs his mother had adorned so much; shiny and beautiful on the outside but hollow and void of any warmth within. 

In the end, Viktor was an object. He was just something to be marvelled at but never touched. 

He leaned back against the column, taking another sip, savouring the bitter taste that coated his tongue.

Viktor glanced down at his drink with bored eyes, the scotch was the same shade of brown as the eyes that haunted him. Viktor had looked endlessly for the eyes that lingered behind in his dreams, calling to him. He could even close his eyes right now and picture his face; even his smile, the way that it filled his face and lit up Viktor’s world, temporarily filling his chest with the warmth he had been craving for such a long time. 

_‘Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s’effondrer et la terre peut bien s’écrouler,’_ His voice rang out across the empty ballroom, bouncing off it’s gilded walls and surrounding him, slightly off key with the singer who sang of nothing but love and to be loved. _‘Peu m’importe si tu m’aimes, je me fous du monde entier.’_

His heart ached tonight. Paris was too big but at the same time too small to him. The city of lovers felt like the city of hopeless romantics. 

_‘Tant que l’amour inondera mes matins, tant que mon corps frémira sous tes mains,”_ Viktor continued to sing terribly, downing his glass before the next stanza. There was no one to judge him but the forgotten party streamers and dramophone. _‘Peu m’importent les problèmes, mon amour puisque tu m’aimes.’_

The words were more than ironic but it hurt too much, the alcohol did little to cure the pain that his heart was in. 

Afterall, he missed the man who stole it. 

A man who was half the ocean away from him in New York. 

A simple man, one who didn’t care about his money or his status or his power.

A man that wanted nothing but to stay by Viktor’s side and never leave. 

And here Viktor was, drinking his pain away because he couldn’t own up to his feelings like the coward he was. He had ruined everything and had nothing to blame but himself as he lamented away in an empty ballroom with nobody to console him but his dog and a glass of scotch.

He didn’t even bother to notice the tears that slid down his face, splashing onto the floor with audible little taps. Makkachin had tried to wipe them away with her tongue, the gesture was touching but it did little to help.

 _‘J’irais jusqu’au bout du monde, Je me ferais teindre en blonde,’_

He chuckled to himself at that last part. The song felt mocking, driving a thorn of self-contempt into his heart as it surrounded him, worming into his mind with its soft notes and soothing voice, settling into the creases of his expensive clothes.

_‘Si tu me le demandais, J’irais décrocher la lune.’_

The moon hung low in the sky, reflecting off the lake his house faced. It was lovely tonight, hauntingly beautiful as this song. The star which had dotted the sky so brightly was outlit by the fireworks across the lake. 

_‘J’irais voler la fortune, Si tu me le demandais. Je ferais n’importe quoi, Si tu me le demandais.’_

Viktor had stopped singing, finding that his vice refused to work anymore. The cigarette was abandoned in its ashtray, smoky tendrils translucent through the moonlight; the glass laid empty on the floor. 

He felt something snap inside his soul as he let out a sob that had bubbled up from his aching soul. 

It hurt so, so much. 

Words couldn’t describe the agony Viktor felt. 

He wanted to go back to New York, he wanted to fall at Yuuri’s feet and beg the young pianist to take him back. He wanted him back in his apartment, he wanted to wake up next to him again--to see the soft smile on his face every time he kissed him. He wanted to take him out to parties and dance with him again to the soft jazz that played at their favourite club. He wanted to take him sailing again, falling in love with his smile and the way the sun kissed his skin. He wanted to make love to him on their king-sized bed again, dying with happiness as their fingers entwined against the silk sheets. 

_‘Si un jour la vie t’arrache à moi, Si tu meurs que tu sois loin de moi, Peu m'importe si tu m’aimes  
Car moi je mourrai aussi.’_

The song continued, going on without him. 

His heart was an ocean away. 

Viktor stood up, instantly regretting his decision as he felt himself lurch forward. His mind was far too groggy to process his body falling towards the hardened floor. Two arms caught him before his head made contact with the marble floor. 

They held onto him tightly, cradling his head as he looked up at the glittering ceiling of his ballroom, shapes and shadows blending together. 

“Viktor!” 

Someone called his name, he recognized that voice which caused a fresh wave of tears. 

No, it was impossible. 

He must have been hearing things. What was in that scotch anyway? 

‘Nous aurons pour nous l’éternité, Dans le bleu de toute l’immensité. Dans le ciel, plus de problèmes.’ 

“Yuuri?” Viktor looked up into the warm eyes of his love. He didn’t know if he was simply hallucinating, imagining the love of his love holding him in his arms. Perhaps he did hit his head and he was in some sort of lucid dream. It felt too good to be true--that couldn’t be his Yuuri! He was all the way in New York. “Please tell me that it’s…..you. Is it really you?” 

“It’s me,” He said, voice cracking.

Even his voice sounded the same.

“It’s not the scotch?”

“No, it’s not the scotch,” Yuuri’s face came into view, his were also filled with tears. “It’s really me, Viktor.”

He leaned down to kiss him. 

Viktor grabbed onto his shoulders, drunkenly throwing himself into the fray. 

The kiss was desperate, messy and hot but Viktor was awake now, the kiss broke the spell of agony he had cast on himself for almost three months. His heart felt light yet heavy at the same time, pulling Viktor closer to Yuuri. He kissed Yuuri right back, salty tears mingling with his as he sobbed into the kiss, his heart falling once more. 

He tasted like the coming of spring.

_Mon amour crois-tu qu’on s’aime?_

“You’re here. You’re actually here,” He said, his voice slurring a bit. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I’m such a fool.”

He held onto to him as if he was going to disappear any moment, Viktor could feel his heart beating through his chest, his tears staining his shirt, the sobs rocking his body. Yuuri still smelled like sweet tropical flowers in the island breeze, it smelled like home. 

He was real. Yuuri was real.

“Please don't go away!”

Yuuri was here with him far from New York. 

He was really here!

But how? 

No, It didn’t matter to him right now. That wasn’t what was important right now. 

He would ask him in the morning when both of them could form a sentence without crying in joy. Yuuri was right here with him in Paris, Viktor was right where he needed to be and that was wherever Yuuri was. Yuuri was his home, his mansions could burn to the ground for all he cared. The press could go hang themselves and the money could remain in its bank vault, Viktor wouldn’t give a damn.

His Yuuri--his love and life was right here. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Viktor said again and again and again, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder. He would say it as many times as he could until his voice gave out. “Forgive me, zolste. I was such a fool to leave like that.”

“You left without a goodbye, Vitya. I searched for you for days, ” Yuuri used his thumb, wiping away the tears that still trailed down his face. The pain was still fresh in his eyes, Viktor couldn’t forgive himself for being the reason why it was there. “You left me alone. Why would you do that?” 

“I...I didn’t deserve you,” He admitted, reaching up tangling his hand in Yuuri’s hair. It had grown a little bit since the last time he had seen him. Yuuri was still asleep in their bed, eyes closed as he breathed softly. He looked so beautiful when Viktor had left the note behind on the nightstand, something he kicked himself for doing. “You were too perfect and pure for someone as flawed and selfish as me. You deserved someone better who wasn’t broken.” 

“Viktor, you idiot. How could you think that? If anybody should say that, it would be me,” Yuuri laughed out, wiping his own tears away with the sleeve of his black jacket. “I fell in love with you, not someone stupid socialite on the wrong side of Brooklyn---” It was Viktor’s turned to laugh, “I fell in love with your flaws as well, dummy. I fell in love with the man who got lost in Brooklyn with his dog; with his eyes, his kindness, his forgetfulness and even his ridiculous heart-shaped smile. Don’t you understand, Viktor?”

He pressed his forehead against Viktor’s, smiling gently. 

“I love you and I always will.”

There were new tears in Viktor's eyes, nothing could make him happier. Viktor smiled, this time it actually reflected in his cerulean eyes. Yuuri’s smile was watery, he left out a shaky breath. 

He hurt Yuuri and he would spend the rest of his life trying to fix it.

There was so much to say and the morning was rapidly approaching, the first rays of sunlight spilt into the room through the windows, falling onto to Viktor and Yuuri, covering them in a blanket of light and shadow. The light cast a glow on Yuuri, making him look ethereal just like the day he left him. 

This must have been heaven's way of giving the both of them a second chance. 

Viktor wasn’t going to chance it.

“I love you, too.” He said, the words tumbling freely from his lips without hesitation. He found where he belonged and nothing could take that away from him again. “Forgive me?”

“Always.”

_‘Dieu réunit ceux qui s’aiment._

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, if you want to know the song that featured in this piece it's Hymne A L'Amour by Edith Piaf. Her voice just tugs at your heartstrings. Give it a listen if you have a chance: [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Eu1F1oA5pM)
> 
> I may have had way too much fun with this. 1920's Paris is something I freaking love reading about. OF course, Paris was more a backdrop but who knows, maybe I'll come back to visit this one. I smell a new fic......
> 
> If you like this, don't hesitate to leave a kudos or a comment!


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